


From One to Another

by writtenthroughtime



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:44:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenthroughtime/pseuds/writtenthroughtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous Asked: What if Frank hadn’t been infertile and he and Claire conceived after Bree was born?</p>
<p>Going away from the ask in that this is NOT a Claire/Frank story. They will NOT have a child together. I am intrigued by Frank being fertile and the reason they never conceived was because it wasn't meant to be. So here is a fic based on the theme of Frank having a child NOT with Claire but with a lover. Don't worry, it's not too much Frank, this is mostly Claire's story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From One to Another

I thought my life could not get worse after the day Jamie forced me to rip my heart and soul in half, but now I knew differently. Leaving Jamie to fight and ultimately die at Culloden was the worst thing I had ever done, until now. Now I was about to give birth to his child without him. Through all the pain and suffering we endured leading up to Culloden, the want and desire for a child of our own, and now he’ll never meet him or her. We are simply, out of time. 

Ever since arriving back into the twentieth century, I’ve felt more out of place than I ever have before. The loneliness was worse than the first few weeks at Leoch. I didn’t think that was possible, but it was. Frank whisked us away to the States shortly after my arrival and now I desperately wished we would have stayed in England. At least there, I would have had someone to call on—old friends from the war, Mrs. Graham, even the kindly Reverend Wakefield—here there was only Frank. 

He’s gradually become more and more distant. Working full-time in a foreign city is one thing— late hours, parties, conventions even— are to be expected but every night? I told Frank when he first found me to leave me be, divorce me, anything but stay with me, yet he vehemently refused. I haven’t been able to understand his reasoning in keeping our relationship when he’s never around. Could my precious piece of Jamie be his reason for being distant? Does he finally realize I cannot love him as I did before? Whatever the reason, it does not change that I am lying on a hospital bed, scared, in pain and alone. 

Twelve hours later, a tiny, pink, precious bundle was laid into my arms. A girl, they had told me. Little Brian won’t work, but…Brianna. My beautiful Brianna Ellen Fras — Randall. My eyebrows scrunched in disdain. I loathe the idea of Jamie’s child growing up without his surname, but what choice do I have?

“Mrs. Randall?” A kindly nurse asked, breaking me out of my reverie. “Would you like me to show you how to feed her?”

I nodded, looking down at the small child who had begun to rut about in search of her meal. When her small rosebud lips latched on and the first suckling sensation began, I was surprised at the queer feeling it emitted. A cross between pain and pleasure with an odd feeling that was indescribable, but felt so… right. I could not resist the plump cheek that was tilted upward, nor the tiny fingers that lay on top of my breast; I had to touch them. Each part of her was so precious, I regretted every moment of hate I ever had for her. She wasn’t the reason Jamie had died, but she was the reason—a tiny, perfect reason— why I did not perish along with him. 

Removing her cap, a shock of reddish wispy curls adorned her head. My tears were instantaneous. Jamie. While switching breasts, I hugged her tightly, before allowing her to latch back on; I pray that she will always carry his traits. It was then that Frank made his way unceremoniously into my hospital room; hat and coat still on and no sign of taking them off; a folder under one arm and a beautiful bouquet in his hand. I smiled at the sight of the flowers. It may not be much, but it was something.

“Frank,” I said, looking up at his face. His face held no signs of joy or curiosity—hate was the only thing that could be found.

He sneered, looking down at the child still attached to my breast. “The Scottish bastard you claim to have met and is the father of that—that thing—he didn’t die at Culloden Moor.” Frank scoffed, as he threw a folder of papers at my feet. 

Shock was not close enough of a word to describe what I now could feel. Jamie survived. I wanted to cry, but with Frank in the room I could not allow him to see me break down. 

“What—how? When did you find out?” I pleaded, desperately searching his eyes for the truth. 

“Shortly after you returned. I thought I could put it behind me, but I am not that strong of a man. To see you,” he broke off shaking his head; a softness faintly visible before his features hardened again. “To see you each day become rounder with someone else’s child…well I could not have it. I had to take something from you, and since you—so wrapped up in your delusions—believe that this….child, could be his, I took him from you.” 

“You’ve known? All this time, you’ve known?! You took me from a place where I could come to terms with what had happened, thrust me into this awful-polluted city, and for what? Spite?”

“Mmm, yes and no. Not everything is about you, my dear. At first, it was to get you away from Scotland and from him, but I digress. The main reason was for my love.”

“Your love?” I moved Brianna to my shoulder—burping her as the nurse had shown—never once taking my eyes from Frank. 

“Yes, and I’m not referring to you either. I met her during the war. A perky lass who always ran errands for the Colonel. I did resist her at first, though she did not make it easy.” Frank stepped closer to the bed, plucked a loose string from the blanket and absentmindedly began twirling it between his fingers. “She was—is a beautiful girl. Young, so eager to please, something I remember you once being. The first time with her, was right after I had visited with you for the first time during the war. I can still see her bouncing.”

Frank looked out the window wistfully lost in his memory and a ghost of a smile told me everything I needed to know. “Ever since then, I’m afraid I can’t seem to get enough of her. While you mysteriously disappeared, she was my comfort. When you came back pregnant, she was my rock. She had been transferred to a clerical position for a company just starting up here in Boston, so naturally, I applied for Harvard and moved us within a moments notice as my contract was drying.”

I stared at the form of a man I hardly knew. Before the war, I never would have suspected this behavior from him. I had my suspicions during; six years is a long time and enough to change a person. 

“And who is this mystery woman who has enraptured your heart so fully?”

“She has the most peculiar Celtic name, Laoghaire, though she prefers her second name of Alice.” I jumped, causing Brianna to make a whimpering noise. Frank scoffed and curled his lip in disgust at the child. I was being silly, the Laoghaire MacKenzie I knew had long since been dead, but I couldn’t shake that feeling of dread.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of introducing the two of you. Alice, my dove, please come in and meet my whore of a wife.” Frank called to the door, oblivious to any protests I started to give.

The woman who walked in was a ghost. A blonde, rosy cheeked, ghost from my past—a living nightmare. Laoghaire looked the same as I remembered only in modern dress, delicately done makeup, and a protruding bulge of her midsection. 

Pregnant. She was pregnant. 

“Darling,” her girlish voice whispered out as she pecked him on the cheek. His free hand went to her stomach, caressing it in an achingly sweet fashion that made my heart drop with want. He then handed her the flowers I had assumed were for me, making her cheeks flush in admiration.

“Alice, this is Claire Randall, though not any more. What was it, the name you used when you whored yourself out to get this one?” Frank said, dismissively waving towards Brianna.

“It is Fraser. Claire Fraser, if you wouldn’t mind.” I said pointedly, steeling a glare at Frank. 

“It is a pleasure to meet ye, though I’m sorry to meet in this manner,” her face held no animosity, no hatred or jealousy, and why would it? She won this time around; she has my husband. The entire time, she had already won, just not with the husband I ached for and loved most. 

“I wish I could say the same,” I attempted a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. I nodded to her abdomen. “Congratulations are in order, I see.” 

She smiled, placing her hand overtop of Frank’s, “Yes, thank-you. I was able to provide him with something you never could. It is a shame though; our first two were miscarriages this part of term, but thankfully this little guy is fine.”

“A boy?” Frank’s voice softened, his face lit up. I felt as though I were a lurker, peering in on a private moment. 

“Aye,” her Scottish lilt thick with the words. “He’s mighty strong and should make it the doctor said.”

Frank started ushering Laoghaire out of the room, fervently asking questions about the babe. With a turn of his head he called out, “Give that thing your dead Highlander’s name. I want no part of it. Also, I’ve taken the liberty of packing your things and sending them to Mrs. Graham in Inverness. Have a good life, Mrs. Fraser.”

Inverness… he sent my things to Inverness. 

I was now mother to an hours old infant, husbandless, without a family, across an ocean from my possessions, and penniless. 

Picking up the folder Frank tossed at my feet, I began rifling through its contents eager to find a sign of where Jamie may be now. Several years were unaccounted for following Culloden, but one thing that stuck out was a prison record: Ardsmuir Prison, seven years after the Rising. That’s where he’ll be, but where is he until then? Lallybroch? France? Oh Jamie, where are you?

When the next nurse came in to check on things, I asked to see if they had the capabilities to send a telegram to Mrs. Graham in Scotland. When she said yes, my heart lifted and resolve hardened in me. I could go back to Scotland, back through the stones, and home to find my husband.


End file.
